


The Song Sings

by Toshi_Nama



Series: Song and Taint [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: The Song...it learned.  Then she sang, and we had a Mother again.  The Warden-Mother...and her Dragon-Warden.  The Songs sing together.  From the Singing to the Leaving, but that is another story.Hear their memories through the Song.





	1. The First Song

They worked feverishly, piling the bodies and pieces against the putrid bulk.  “That’s all, Commander.”  Nathaniel’s voice was tired, hoarse rather than gravelly.

The horror, the disgust, the madness that reeked in her nostrils…she clenched her fist tighter around her straff, pointed it at the hulk.  “Burn,”she whispered and watched as white-hot flames sprang forward, flickered against the wet corruption.  Fueled by her will, they finally caught and roared higher.  If only she could burn this from her mind as well, but she needed to remember.

A long moment later, and she turned, still silent, from the choking clouds billowing around.  The others had to step back far earlier.  She walked past them, back out from this lair, back toward surface and duty.  Thirty or forty paces, and she stopped.  She felt a flicker in the back of her mind, whispers at the corners of her eyes.  “Nathaniel.  Take them up, get to the Keep.”  The Keep she’d abandoned to save the people, and prayed the other Wardens could hold it.  How many had she killed today?  No,  _ she  _ didn’t kill anyone but Darkspawn.  There was so much...Wardens, Darkspawn, taint and corruption, but duty pushed her on.  She was so tired of the hard choices, the year of hard choices that started with that little accident of Jowan’s.

“You should lead us, Commander.”

“There’s something else here.  I’ll deal with it.”

He looked at her.  “Alissa, you’re the Commander.  We can’t leave you here.”  The reluctance, resistance she hadn’t heard since he had admitted finding friendship where he’d expected only hate.  This wasn’t really about leadership or command – and so she could give him an answer.

“There’s something here, Nathaniel.  I’ll be fine, I promise.  You’re now Constable.  Go.  You know the Keep better than anyone.  Take care of things.”

Watching them leave, she finally called a wisp of power to circle her staff, faint green shadowing the darkness around her.  “I’m here.”  Not loud or carrying, just an acknowledgement to the faint pulsing in her blood.  She listened and followed instinct, no longer tracing their path but moving toward an echoing deepness to her left.  Quiet, assured footsteps – she had gotten used to darkness.

Finally, a dancing in the shadows ahead of her showed movement low and slow.  A grating whimper as the Hurlock looked up at her.  “Healing?  You…heal, yes?”

It had asked for help.  One of the Architect’s, one of his ‘children.’  Past their voices, their size, the grotesque monstrosities the corruption had doomed them to be, they  _ were  _ almost children, bewildered at what they felt and the world around them.   _ Mixed fear and excitement as the doors to Kinloch opened before her and Duncan, the catch in her throat as her body stiffened.  It had been five years since she’d seen sunlight rippling on the water, a rare treat even then. _

“I can try.  Healing doesn’t always work, and I’ve never tried to heal one of your kind.”

“It is Genlock.  It is helping?”

She saw the wounds, the blood oozing thick black, glimmering strangely in the green light.  This was beyond her powers.  “No.”  Her gentle voice shocked her.  Genlocks were among the only things smaller than she.  The Hurlock knelt, took its hand.  “It won’t be long.”  A sharp keening sound, and she noticed the Genlock’s eyes were still open.

“Hurting…”

She knelt next to it, staff planted upright.  “I can’t heal you.”  She looked again.  “I can give you sleep, I can give you...mercy – or we can stay with you.”

“Music?  Utha is humming, after the sun.”  Its voice was thin.

She swallowed the lump and nodded.  Utha – the Grey Warden who stood with the Architect, silent and shadowed.  If that was all this creature asked for, she would give that.

“Whither, o whither

My lady, she is calling.

Her rippling in the sunlight

The darkness deep below.

Further, oh my darling

I go back to her calling.

Give a kiss for love,

A kiss for luck,

A kiss to see me home.”

A sea chanty she’d heard in Amaranthine.  Something this creature, trapped in the darkness, had never known.  Her voice faltered, but stayed true enough.

“What…” the labored breathing tore at her, “is a kiss?”

Could they be anything but monstrous if they’d never known kindness?   _ Could mages be anything but mad, if they’d known nothing but bars and stone walls?   _ The wisp of light flickered as she bent over, pressed her lips gently against the rotting corruption of its blood-spattered forehead.  Stroked the flaking skin and flesh as she felt a whisper finally leave.  A sharp finger dented the skin of her cheek, traced a line.  She met the Hurlock’s eyes as it stared and slowly blinked at her.  “They’re tears.”

It stared at her again.

“Come.”  Her voice was gentle again.  “Take me to the others.”  She pulled its hand from her face, held it as she stood.  “And we will gather the dead, and give them release in fire, as we did for the Mother.”

_ “She _ is not a mother.  Not ours.   _ She  _ never sang.   _ She  _ did no comforting.”

“Still.”  Her voice was firm, even as her mind reeled around what she thought it was saying.  The poor things.  Perhaps the Architect was right?  Perhaps they just needed guidance.  No, the Taint would always separate them.  How much did it have to?   _ Did  _ it have to?  Wonder purred against her.

It led her further.  When she called on the spirits to heal one, it screamed of fire and burning – she stopped, and stuck to fingers and craft to patch them back together.  Some, she could save with quick sewing, her fingers stiff and coated in the thick, cold blood that dripped and oozed between them.  Some, she couldn’t.  She directed them as she had her Wardens, gathered all the bodies into a pile.  “Yes, all of them.  Even those of the Mother’s.  We will send them all in light and fire.”  Streaks of corruption in her fiery hair, across her cheekbones as she scrubbed, impatient and uncaring, pushed the loose strands from her eyes.

They stopped, waited as she gathered her strength again, pointed her staff.  “Go free.”  They watched the fire until she started coughing, then a Genlock took her hand, pulled her away.

At the surface, finally, and the fickle breeze pushed some of the haze that lingered around them.  “Why did you bring me here?”

The Genlock looked at her, looked up to her.  “We do not cry.  You did.”

A line formed between her brows.  “You weren’t there.”

“We are connecting.  We know.”  It turned her hand over, used its nail to score her palm, pointed at the blood that pooled, darker than before Ostagar.  “You know.”

For the first time since the Messenger, she smiled.  It was natural that she reached out, stroked the clumps of matted hair haphazard on his head.  She closed her fingers, and her hand glowed briefly as she called on Wonder to seal her wound.  She sighed, looked at the Awakened around her.  “I must go, to the Keep.  You can’t.  They won’t understand.”  She didn’t entirely, but…she knew she’d come back to them.  “Not yet.  We all have much to learn.”

The Hurlock who first spoke to her, a gash through his right eye, said the final words.  “We will be waiting.  Mother.”

Alissa smiled and left to save her Arling, her people.  Then she couldn’t avoid a chuckle.  Nathaniel would be bad enough, but Alistair….  Oh, she couldn’t even imagine the look on his face when Alistair got back from Orlais and learned who she’d inadvertently adopted.


	2. The Dragon-Warden

“They’re children, Alistair!”  She flung up her hands.  ‘Difficult’ was nothing next to this.

“They’re Darkspawn.  You know, what we’re sworn to destroy?”  He hadn’t been back in Ferelden a day, and Nathaniel sprang this on him.  Well, it was the ambush on the way back that did it…and the sick feeling of seeing a Genlock sprout up behind the archer who had him lined up, gut her, and then smile at him.  Nathaniel’s shout of ‘Warden, no!’ shocked him enough that his shield bash only threw the thing back against a tree.  “Oh, and what’s this about having a Howe as your Constable?”

“Nathaniel is nothing like his father.  Thank the Stone.  He’s done wonders working with the Senechal and rebuilding.  Knows the land inside and out.”  Alissa shook her head sharply.  “But that’s a side issue.”

“Only because you’re using Darkspawn… _ Darkspawn!... _ to patrol!  Maker, Alissa, have you gone mad in the past year?”  She watched his choppy strides and clenched fists – the lines of worry and disbelief etched on his face.

“Aren’t you the one who talked about how a Blight brought people together?”  A ghost of a smile, but he didn’t return it.  “Alistair, we’re Wardens.  Oh, and you’ve got a claim on the throne.”  His eyes bugged out.  “No, no, I agreed with you.  The time for you to take it would have been at the Landsmeet, not a year later; after spending most of it in Orlais working with the Warden-Commander there, no one will want you.  You didn’t want it, and that’s  _ fine. _  But Anora doesn’t see it that way.  So we need to be Wardens, I need to be Arlessa, and we have the Queen sending assassins after you.  Oh, and so much we can’t tell Weisshaupt we might as well not send letters at all.”  Her lips tightened.  “It’s been almost a year – I think I’ll need to bring in a new administrator.  Maybe Delilah would be willing to, or know someone who’d fit.  Lady Woolsey keeps asking too many questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes.  About the Archdemon.  About you.  About my loyalties, and the talking Darkspawn.”

“She’s with the Order, just tell her the truth?”  She looked at him, and he hastily added, “Ok, not all of it.  Not… _ that. _ ”

“We can’t tell them everything, but…what do we say?  And Alistair, these Awakened helped us save Amaranthine.  Are helping us now.”  An odd, wistful smile crossed her face as he stared.  “They’re sweet, really.”

“Darkspawn.  Ravening monsters, smell like rotten yuck, faces falling off, pointed teeth?  They’re  _ sweet?”   _ His strangled voice squeaked at the end.

“Yes?  I know, I know, they’re gross.  And Tainted.  But they’re trying to learn, and are trying to help, and…” her eyes met his.  “Alistair, they call me mother.  Because I sang to one as it was dying.  And that’s what mothers do.”

His ass hit the floor with a thud.  This was worse.  Bad enough to work with something disgusting – they’d had to deal with criminals, and King Behlen, to defeat the Blight.  But Darkspawn…and her eyes rarely got soft, except for flowers and…Andraste.  Children. 

A sharp knock on the door, and Howe opened it.  “Alis-Wardens.  We have news.  They’ve found a nest – the way should be clear enough.”

Alistair stared, dazed, at the two of them.  They were  _ children  _ to her, children trapped and considered monsters.  He remembered the woman in the Circle, who’d prayed for death because of the curse of her magic.  He…he couldn’t fight this, fight her, not right now.  But Howe didn’t realize.  Why would he, when he hadn’t seen the Circle?

“They found it already?  We knew there had to be something more than what we’d dealt with in Kal-Hirol.”  She’d turned all business and pride, the wistful feelings buried under the Warden-Commander’s duties.  She’d done the same in Orzammar, when she crowned the dirtbag.  And Denerim, but he refused to think about that.  She’d kept talking.  “Where?”

“Deep.  There’s an entrance up near the coast we can use, they say.  They had to widen it for us – but said ‘The air be growing sweet and still further in.  Be warning our brother.’”

“Their grammar is getting better already.  Sigrun’s thoughts?”

“She’s not happy, but if it’ll let her kill more broodmothers, she’s all for it.  Her recommendation is no more than eight.  The Awakened will follow a parallel path to meet us further in.  That means we have even fewer we can send, because they’ll have to work with the Awakened knowingly.  Sigrun, Velanna’s already out there...you and I.  Markus was saved by the Messenger last year and survived his Joining.  Hans.”

Alistair finally broke back in.  “What if it’s a trap?”  And winced as they both gave him a look.  He should  _ not  _ feel like an idiot for asking if Darkspawn were leading them into a trap.

“The other advice hasn’t been.  Or their efforts to cleanse the worst out of Kal-Hirol before we told Orzammar about it.  They even helped seal the deeper tunnels.”  Nathaniel nodded as she spoke and didn’t mention the attempt that almost took his life.

He sighed, knowing he was going to lose this one.  He’d even had to watch Howe thank that Genlock, and managed to nod then – watched it burrow back into the ground, first time he’d ever seen one not keep going for blood.  Weird didn’t come close to covering this.  “Fine, I’ll make it seven.  I need to see this.”  He tried desperately to lighten his voice.  “I guess there’s nothing like murdering gross flesh monsters together to cement alliances.”


	3. The Connecting

“We found these.”  Slash held out his hand, with a few sparkling stones still in battered settings.  “For Mother, yes?”

He remembered the first time meeting the Hurlock…who had several more slashes across his face, but kept the name Alistair had bestowed fighting that nest a year ago.  Maker, that was ugly.  And watching the Awakened cart off the little wiggling bundles…but far better than encouraging more broodmothers.  At least everyone was agreed the nests needed to be destroyed.  The madness it took to break a woman and corrupt her into one of those things couldn’t be overcome – they just needed to be put down.  Either way, the Awakened liked names from the Wardens.  A few had even begun naming themselves, though not many.

“Yes?”

He shook his head.  “Cobwebs, Slash.  Tired, that’s all.”  The Hurlock just stood – they didn’t sleep, so still didn’t deal well with the concept.  “Yes, for Alissa.”  He poked through, found a moonstone that made his breath catch, a cracked black diamond, shards that were all that remained of what must have been an enormous ruby brooch.  “I want to ask her to marry me, and that means getting her a ring.”

“What is marry?”  The Genlock Nest’s grating voice came from near his waist.  “She is our mother.”

A deep sigh.  The Awakened had been helpful, and he was grateful for that…and the fact they didn’t have much contact with anyone but Alissa.  But dealing with the creatures was hard.  He still fought down the instinctive need to kill, and was convinced they did the same.  “This is different, boys.”  Treat them like children, just…big, ravening children.  Right.  That’s what Alissa did, and it worked for her.  He, like Nathaniel, was more likely to treat them as basic warriors.  “For humans, and elves, and dwarves, there is the love of parent and child.  There is also love between two adults.”  His eyes crossed.  “A…connecting?”

Two rotting heads nodded.  At least he was used to the smell of the Taint by now, and both had used khaddis to help hide the worst of it.

“That, then.  My way of asking her for that connecting, but her choice to decide.”  He needed a drink.  And a bath.  Two.  “These will work well.  A wonderful gift.”  A sickly smile.  “Thanks.”

They walked off – they’d learned by now it was easier on the Wardens if they burrowed out of sight.  And they were good about putting the dirt back, he gave them that.  Creepy, but polite.  He shook all over, like a dog  trying to get rid of fleas.  Time to talk to the smith.

**

I can make a ring, Warden – I have the gold.  The moonstone in the center – I think I can save enough to flank it with black diamond.  These look dwarven.”

“Just something found in the Deep Roads.  You know how it is.”  He gave a too-casual shrug.  The smith had seen enough oddities since coming to Vigil’s Keep that he just nodded.  So long as he could do his craft, he didn’t care where things came from.  ‘You’re Wardens, good enough for me,’ the one time he was asked.

“Give me a week.  What for the ring size?”

Alistair dug in his pocket, pulled out a length of dirty string with two markings.  “Here.  Just resting, but no slack, like you said.”

“Tiny lass you have – must not be much bigger than the Warden-Commander!”

He coughed, turned away, hoped his ears didn’t go red like usual.  “Just…she has small hands.”

**

Out by the springs, he watched her as she followed the petals, tucking the flowers into the long braid of her hair.  She’d been gone to Soldier’s Keep again, dealing with that Avernus, but came back just as the ring was finished.  Simple, unadorned, perfect just as it was.  Like her.  He saw her lips quirk in the moonlight as she saw the basket and bottle on the large rock.

“Am I supposed to pretend I don’t know you’re here?”  She carefully didn’t look in his direction.

“Yes.”

A smothered chuckle.  “Ok, then.”  She gracefully folded herself onto the rock, setting down her staff.  Even out here, even with the new rings of protection the Awakened provided, they couldn’t be too careful.  She was wearing trousers, but with the silk divided robe he’d brought back from Orlais over top, its flowing sapphire lines accenting her curves.

He focused in, listened again: the only Tainted creatures in reach were the two of them.  Which she probably already knew.  He watched as she opened up the basket, found the fresh berries he’d liberated from the kitchen, sank her teeth into one.  Licked off the juice – it was more than he could stand.  He walked quietly – except for the twig, the rock he caught his toe on, and the thudding footfalls – to wrap his arms around from behind her, roses tied with a ribbon in his hand.  Kneeling next to the rock like this, she could rest her head on his shoulder, filling his senses with warmth and wildflowers.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve done?”  He whispered in her ear, moonlight and shadow all around them.

She chuckled.  “So many to choose from.  Letting some fool boy talk me into drinking a goblet of blood is near the top, though.”

He huffed a chuckle back.  “The goblet wasn’t me, to be fair.”

“No, you just smiled and helped me find the blood.  I was lost – all your fault.”

“Flatterer.  Point.”

“What’s the most exciting thing you’ve done?”

He thought a moment.  No, too soon.  Exciting.  “Um.”

“Do I sense victory already?”

“No!  Exciting.  Staring down a dragon’s gullet, when it was supposed to be a sweet old lady.”

“She was never sweet.”

“But old!  And feeble.  And then…a giant dragon.”

She rubbed her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder.  “Fair enough.”

“What is the happiest thing you’ve ever done?”

He held his breath as she froze for just a moment, then took a drink before answering.  “Woke up to flowers everywhere, and a smile brighter than the sun on the waves.”

Too much to resist, he turned her enough to kiss her.  “That was wonderful, wasn’t it?  Maker’s breath, was it really last summer?”  They’d snuck off for a week, Nathaniel covering for them, to camp by the seaside.  Digging for clams, sun and laughter.  A respite from their duties and the politics, a chance to just be together.

“Mmmm.”  She handed him a handful of fruit.  “What’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done?”

Flashbacks to Redcliffe, to playing this game, drunk and happy and safe for a moment.  Perfect.  “This.”  Then he had a moment, and couldn’t stop the rest from slipping out.  “I hope.”  He held the ring where she could see it, light flanked by darkness, tiny chips of ruby gleaming bright as fire.  “Alissa, my light, my Rose…will you marry me?”

She spun around like quicksilver, spilling roses over them, to stare into his eyes.  He’d never seen hers so saucer-wide, filling up her thin face.  “Alistair…do you mean it?”

He nodded.

“But I’m a mage!”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m an Apostate!”

“Warden.  Special rules.”

“I’m the Warden-Commander!  Your superior!”

“Just means I get the best assignments.”

“I…I can’t give you children.”  A shimmer of grief here.

He thought quickly.  “You already have.”  The ghost of Denerim rose in her eyes, but he hastily continued.  “Ok, so they’re a bit gross, and their faces sometimes fall off and we can’t take them out in public – but they’re still your children.”

“It was only the once.”

He spoke quickly, before she could say anything else.  “Alissa, my love, I mean it.  I want to marry you, to live out what years we have together, to know we have a bond no one can take from us.  There will always be things to deal with – we can together.  You’re a mage, and I was a Templar – that evens out, right?  But none of that matters because you’re you, and I love you, and…”

“Yes.”

“What?”

A watery chuckle contrasted with her sweet-sharp voice.  “I said yes, you crazy, sweet, foolish man.”

**

There was a full moon when everyone slipped into the Chantry.  Delilah held open the door.  “Shhh.  He stayed at home with the baby.”  Nathaniel gave his sister a kiss on the cheek as we walked in, footsteps echoing in the empty building.

“Spooky.”

Alissa hushed him, eyes sparkling.  “We had to keep it quiet.  Or would you rather have not had one at all?”

“No!  No, spooky is fine.”

The Revered Mother greeted us.  “With the moon, my dears, let’s go to the garden.”

The light glimmered from a clear sky, sliding along the petals in the herb garden and glimmering on the silk robe Alissa had chosen for the ceremony.  The chocolate brown velvet tunic he’d found drank the light instead.

“Are all gathered here?”  Alistair took Alissa’s hands, both pretending neither set were trembling, and stood in front of the Revered Mother.

She gasped first, but it wasn’t long before he and Nathaniel both stiffened.  A whisper at the edge of sensing – Taint.  Here, on holy ground.  And none of them were armed but with belt knives.  Well, Alissa, but that was different.

“Wait!”  Her whisper pierced through to both men.  “Listen.”  Three cloaked figures, scarves around their faces, walked into the garden from the other side.  Downwind, thank the Maker – it was possible the elderly Revered Mother wouldn’t notice.

A raspy voice out of one of the short cloaks.  “We are here for the connecting, Mother.”

Alistair closed his eyes.  Only him.  Only he would fall in love with a woman who adopted Darkspawn –  _ talking  _ Darkspawn…and ones that would crash the wedding.  He conveniently ignored the fact  _ he  _ was the one who asked their help for the ring.  Then he opened them, looked at Alissa and knew she was still worth it.

“Connecting?  Ah.  You must be dwarves – we call it a wedding, here.  These are your last guests?”

Alissa’s voice trembled with laughter.  “Yes, Revered Mother.”

She looked up at Alistair, eyes brilliant with moonlight, as he slipped the stark but somehow perfect ring onto her finger.  Nathaniel handed one to her – his Warden grandfather’s, he’d said – that had been resized for Alistair’s finger.  A simple and flowing pattern that reminded him of rope and wave, or the grip of a sword – perfect.  Anything was perfect, because it was from her.  Words that flowed over them both, then a deep kiss in front of those who mattered most, in the strangest of ways.

They turned to the cloaked figures, once they’d thanked the cleric and sent her back to bed.

“Slash?”

A nod.

“And Nest, and Caller.”  The raspy voice spoke again.  “We are witnessing for all.”

“Thank you.”  Her voice was soft, as it usually was around them.  Caller pulled out a handful of flowers, already beginning to twist from such close proximity to the Taint.  She still took them with grace.  “You should go – the wedding is done, and we all are heading back to the Keep.”

“You will be staying awake to talk?  We should come up through our path?”

Alistair’s eyes widened.  Of all things he had planned for tonight and his new wife, talking with…talking Darkspawn wasn’t on the list.  “No!  No, not tonight.  Maybe tomorrow.”  Tomorrow, they’d have enough time to clear out the lower gathering room and send the newer Wardens somewhere else.

All three heads turned to Alissa, and waited until she nodded.  “We were not expecting you, were worried it wasn’t safe.  Tomorrow night.”

The three Wardens left with Delilah, while the other three headed back the way they’d come, moonlight shining bright on all of them. 

“What are you going to do with those things?”

She looked at her hand, and the stems sparked as the flowers burned to ash.  “It was the gesture, love.”  She smiled up.  “Besides, I’m guessing I have flowers waiting in our room.”

He waggled his eyebrows.  “Among other things, Liss.”

None of them noticed the eyes gleaming from the battlements.  Eyes that had tracked both sets of departing figures.


	4. Dissonant Note

“Majesty.”

The Queen looked at her from her throne, and Alissa sighed internally.  Anora was anything but trusting: she’d given up her staff before coming into the Palace and tolerated two rather invasive searches for other weapons.  They’d even taken her sewing kit, for Andraste’s sake!  But here she was, in an echoingly empty throne room with the ever-perfectly dressed Queen and a dozen guards.

“Warden-Commander.  Do you have news?  Have you completely abdicated your responsibility to the Howes we removed from power in Amaranthine?”

She tamped down her temper, knowing it was a deliberate, childish, attempt.  For a woman nearing forty, the Queen still acted at times like the little girl her father had called her, just before Alistair executed him for his treason.  “Majesty, I have word from my Banns.  If you were not informed, Warden Nathaniel came with in case you needed more on any of their history.”  She took a deep breath to remember the rest of the bits Nathaniel pushed her to memorize.  “The Banns are nervous, Queen Anora.  You hold your throne and have the loyalty of the Bannorn, but you have no husband and no heir.”  The Queen’s look of disdain didn’t shift – that was the best she could have hoped for.  “Lady Liza had mentioned that many Banns would like to see this changed: and a name was suggested.”

“Oh, really, Warden-Commander.  And who, precisely?  Said Nathaniel Howe, so conveniently here?”

“No.  As loyal and good a Warden as he is, his father’s name will haunt him.”  A slight flicker in her eyes, but Alissa couldn’t tell if it was respect or something else.  Damn the woman, anyway.  “Arl Eammon, Majesty.  He has ended his mourning for his lost Arlessa and has moved to Denerim anyway to escape the memories of Redcliffe.”

Now she saw rage and hatred.  “You have the gall to come here, advise me on my love life, and suggest the very man who set off a civil war against my father?”

Actually, that was Lord Teagan, but Alissa didn’t think the distinction would matter.  She forged ahead – surely, the Queen had retained enough of a head for politics to listen to reason.  “Yes.  Because of that, and because given his age and grief, he could be expected to remain quiet.”

“How dare you suggest I share my bed with my father’s killer.”

And  _ that _ would actually be Alistair, who she’d never doom to such a fate.  Which Anora should know, since the third assassination attempt came not long after their quiet wedding at the Amaranthine Chantry.  “I don’t suggest that.  Blighted nug droppings, can’t you see the advantages?  He’s old, he’ll never recover from the grief – you wouldn’t need to share a bed!  It gives you an excuse to do whatever you want and claim he’s the father.  An heir, and an end to the whispers against you.”

“Only a bitch who’d never known her family could suggest something like this.”  Alissa clenched her jaw, but the Queen wasn’t done.  “Get out.  Get out of the Palace, get out of Denerim.  And don’t come back.”

**

“So that could have gone better.”

Nathaniel snorted.  “Alissa, it couldn’t have gone worse if you’d tried.”

She rubbed her head.  “You told me, but I had to.  It was an elegant solution, and I’d promised Lady Liza I’d bring it up.  Well, let’s get packed and out again.  Oh, can you send word to Alistair?  He needs to get out of Ferelden again, too.  There’s bound to be another attempt.”  She thought.  “Why don’t you send him for word on what happened to the companions who helped us defeat the Blight?  One was a Qunari, a…Sten of the Berasaad.  Yes, that’s what he called himself.  Surely, hunting Qunari will take him far enough away.  I’d heard word some got stranded out in the Free Marches somewhere.  Send him with enough gold to buy a ship for them, if they can either take him with or give us news.”

“That’s not enough.  Not if she’s sending assassins again.”  He rolled things back into his saddlebags – she hadn’t even gotten hers unpacked.

“No.  I’ll write a letter to Zevran and get it out, too.  Alistair’s quick; he’ll manage until Zev can listen in.  If I get really lucky, he’ll even manage to get the contract in the first place.”

Another snort.  “Luck, Alissa, is not on your side right now.”


	5. Awakening

Alissa had cleared out the Drydens for the night.  No one should see what she had, what she was about to attempt.  No one, that is, except those necessary.

She ran through the empty halls of the abandoned fortress, across the bridge.  Three, nearly four years since she had first come here, and still almost abandoned despite the small but flourishing village outside the walls.  And the reason why was…  “Avernus!”  Her voice echoed against the uncaring stones, was drunk by the shadows high against the walls.

A long moment.  “Is it time?  Excellent.  Where?”

“Below.  You’ve read the notes?”  Her voice was even sharper than usual, full of worry.  She’d transcribed them so he didn’t see even the Architect’s handwriting.  He hadn’t wanted to give them, but did in return for Warden blood for his own rituals.  Morrigan’s advice had been invaluable, and had worked.  It still took months.  She was able to have the Awakened convince him that she needed to know, to see if there was anything useful for the Wardens.  Another secret, but there were many she kept from the Architect.  He might be an ally, but not a trusted one.   Much like Avernus.  “There are dungeons below.  There.”  In the darkness - what better place for something like this?  “Whose blood should we use?”

He walked with her, slowly but steadily.  He hadn’t aged in the past years - she shouldn’t be surprised.  Not with what he’d been studying for so long.  He stared off.  “You said random Wardens had been used, but at least one should have been long past her Calling?”

Alissa nodded.  That had been the only way to describe Utha, especially once Alistair had dug into his memories, and Vael into the few Warden records they had, and found out how long ago she had Joined.  “I don’t want to use yours if we can avoid it.  That leaves me.  Oh, and Nathaniel.”  There were only four who knew about Avernus, and only Nathaniel  knew what she was going to attempt.  Of the Wardens, at least.  

Morrigan had helped her decipher the ritual, using what she’d learned to put together the Dark Ritual that had saved them all during the Blight.  A year they’d spent passing notes back and forth, long delays as they reached her wherever she had hidden herself...and her son.  Doing the same with Avernus, never letting him know where ‘her’ theories came from.  Alistair was off to the Marches, and she thought the Mad Queen didn’t catch her sneaking out of the Vigil, since she used the Awakened’s paths.  Some of  _ her _ Awakened, from the Mother’s lair, were also here, those with Warden names.  Slash for what had happened to his eye.  Nathaniel had discovered that the Genlock was fascinated by birds, and between that and his hair...Nest he became.  She shook her head.   _ Focus.  This is dangerous enough as is. _

They made their way downstairs.  She spoke again, returned to business, and what they were about to attempt.  “I have the lyrium and a chalice.”  She found a new one because she wasn’t willing to use the Joining chalice.  She had only the faintest idea what should happen, and didn’t want to risk their relic.

Nathaniel met them at the dungeon entrance, and was greeted by Avernus.  “Howe!  I recognize you.  Good man, someone we could always count on.  Wait, I thought you failed your Joining?  But I recognize the face and bow.”  The ancient mage twitched.  “Howe, yes?  How are you here, and a Warden?  I can feel the Taint, but I watched you die.”

Nathaniel turned away, stroked the curves of the bow over his shoulder.  Alissa watched, and he finally answered.  “My grandfather.”  His voice was more gravelly than usual.  “I have been told I have the look of him.”

Avernus shook his head.  “Too old.  Too many years, too many Joinings.  But a Howe can be trusted, always, to be true to themselves.  Howes are who they are, always.  Not surprised you followed his path.  Both of you, cut your hands.  You Joined after the Blight, and she during?”

He tensed, and gave her another questioning look.  Was she sure about this?  A moment, and she nodded.  They pulled daggers, and made thin cuts, enough for the blood to well up.  Hers was thick and dark, but still looked like blood.  His, bright red, had only a hint of shadow.  Was it the lessons she’d gotten from Avernus, she wondered?  The potion she’d drunk the first time here, maybe, when she was desperate for anything that would let her defeat an Archdemon.  Or, worst of all, just the fact she’d Joined during the Blight - did that speed up the Taint so much?

The old man held their hands, turned them in the light, sniffed the blood.  Nathaniel swallowed heavily.  “Yes, we’ll try his on the first ones.”

**

Avernus was fascinated by Slash and the others.  “Later, mage.  I told you of them, why I knew it was possible.”  He’d agreed not to use names - she trusted the Awakened, but only so far.  And the ‘connecting,’ she didn’t know what of their knowledge would get back to the Architect’s Awakened, to the Architect himself.  She focused Avernus’ attention toward the wriggling nightmares in the metal-barred wagon.  At the last moment, he’d had Nathaniel step out.  Too much human blood in the room, he said.  She had refused when he looked at her.  The Awakened trusted her, not him.  But Alissa was glade Nathaniel was out; he would not see this, would not be part of it.  This darkness, she didn’t want spread.  Much like her blood, her responsibilities -  _ she  _ took on the corruption, to keep others safe.  And this could go wrong.  Very wrong.  She knew the safeguards Nathaniel had put in when after he realized ‘plans’ were for other people, the carefully hidden cannistairs.  Her second in command may not want to detonate them, but Nathaniel would.  If it was necessary.  Avernus was right, you could always trust a Howe’s nature, and Nathaniel believed in duty.

The blood, already in the chalice.  The lyrium, the spells already cast.  Avernus hesitated, then handed it to Slash.  “I do not know if my presence would spark an attack.”  Slash took it carefully, his mangled fingers cradling the full bowl of the cup.  Alissa, watching, took a quarter-step toward the Fade, just enough to whisper to her companion, the lyrium she’d taken thrumming in her bones.  She needed to watch as well, needed to see the changes it made in then.

The mages leaned against their staffs as the Awakened took over.  Her eyes widened as Slash chanted in his low raspy voice.  “Join.  Joining in shadows, free of Calling.  Connecting, but free.  Free of darkness, free of hunger.  Join.”  The bastardized words of her own ritual, ones the Awakened must have chosen.  The rasping a rhythm, as the torches flickered - only enhancing the darkness surrounding the wagon and the Darkspawn in front of it.   _ Alistiar’s voice, the first time she’d heard it without that lilt of humor: ‘Join us, brothers and sisters.  Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant…’   _ A twisted ritual by Tainted adversaries - but, as the Architect had said, it may be a way to break the cycle of the Blights.  And if she could understand well enough - Morrigan had promised to look for a way to fight the Taint directly.  The corruption slowly chilling her blood, the whispers in her mind...could any of them survive if she found a cure?  Did it matter?  This was a necessary step, no matter the cost.  Thank the Stone Alistair wasn’t here.  He couldn’t know what she was attempting.  Nest unlocked the wagon, pulled out the first.  The blood dripped into the gaping mouth.  A shriek spiralled higher as blackness bursting over the thing.  A spray of cold liquid as Nest slashed across its throat.  Again - and the same result.

Alissa clenched her jaws.  There were faster ways to kill Darkspawn, if that was all this would do.  “Stop.”  The two paused immediately.  “Slash, what is wrong?”  They’d followed the notes exactly.  Had the Architect lied to her again?  She needed answers.  And she needed Awakened that were not tied to the Architect.  They were useful, and they were...or could become...something more than the unfeeling monsters she was sworn to fight.  The Blight, the Taint...where was her duty?  Ending the Blight.  And if that meant working with Darkspawn, she would do it.  Grey Wardens took the Taint into themselves, this  was only an extension of that, really.  Besides, they were not the nightmare creatures of corruption, rage and hunger she had killed by the score.  They were more, and less.

He cocked his head, looked at Nest.  Sniffed the cup, then met his Awakened brother’s eyes again.  “Blood...may be too pure?  Not enough Taint.”

Alissa stepped forward before Avernus could move.  Easy enough to open her hand again, whisper to Wonder and have her thick blood merged with the existing spell before Wonder sealed the wound again.  Three drops - she could see the difference in the chalice.  “Try again.”

“Join.”  The words, the chalice, the blood poured into the mouth.  The nightmares still in the wagon grew eager, focused, stopped writhing around each other.  An odd purr, streaks of red running down its sides.  It grew, rapidly expanding to larger than Nest, peeling out of the soft stickiness it had hidden within.  The Hurlock stood.

It looked around, still dripping with fluid.  A croak.  “Connecting.  Joining.”  It looked at her.  “You.”

“Mother.”  Nest’s voice was firm.

Tainted.  Darkspawn, but...not.  She could feel him in the back of her mind, a presence, but not.  Could Nathaniel?  “Welcome to shadows.”

It stepped from the darkness to stand near her as Avernus’ eyes glowed in excitement.  She held her hand, an unspoken command, before he could speak.

Seven more.  Then Nest took the chalice and Slash reached in for one of the last creatures.  A hesitation.  “Mother, be stepping back.”

She did, pulling Avernus with her until they were next to the stairs leading back up to the surface.

“Join.  Joining in shadows, free of Calling.  Connecting, but free.  Free of darkness, free of hunger.  Join.”  Nest’s raspy voice was different, almost uncertain.  The blood poured, and Alissa stiffened as she watched how quickly it grew.  The red streaks, flickering black - she reached out with Wonder instinctively.  They knew what it should look like inside the Darkspawn now.  The black faded back to red, and the creature kept growing.  Nest and Slash moved away as it writhed.  Clawed fingers burst through, followed by horns as he stretched...

The ogre stood, yellow-black eyes catching the light.  Avernus gasped, but she had helped free him.  She looked up, and  _ up _ , no fear in her eyes.  Tainted, but more.  She could feel the difference, even more than the Awakened who she had comforted and healed at the Mother’s lair.  She stepped forward, turned his unresisting hand over, cut a line.  Black oozed out, but it beat warm and had a tint to it.  It sealed as she watched his eyes. “Connecting.  Join us.”  The back of her mind wondered how she’d explain  _ this  _ to Alistair.

His voice rumbled, more felt than heard.  Heard in the back of her mind, along with his curiosity and muted hunger.  “Mother.”


	6. Learning and Naming

He looked at her hopefully.  “You’re joking, right?”  When she didn’t answer, he looked at Nathaniel.  “She’s joking?  Please?  You didn’t really let her make a talking ogre, did you?”

“Does anyone ‘let’ Alissa do anything?”  Nathaniel’s voice was resigned.  “And it wasn’t  _ a  _ talking ogre, Alistair.  It was five Hurlocks, three Genlocks and…”

“And a talking ogre.”

“Alistair, I told you.  I managed to get some of the...Darkspawn larvae from a nest, because I’d gotten the Architect’s notes on how the Awakening worked.”  Her voice was tired and irritable.  This was the...fourth? time she’d tried to explain.  “Anora’s trying to keep people from volunteering - it’s why I’ve had to send you recruiting into the Marches and beyond.  We need more fighters against the Darkspawn, and the Awakened who have joined us were useful.” That was in addition to the fact she hated how many died in the Joining.  She’d almost decided against recruiting more Wardens at all, except they were necessary, if another Blight came.  “The Awakened can detect Darkspawn just like we can.  And track them, and kill them.”

Exasperation.  He hadn’t reacted to the Awakened so badly since he’d met them the first time.  “Alissa, they  _ are  _ Darkspawn.”

“But they’re loyal, and don’t kill people.  Often.”  Her lips tightened.  “Those were assassins, they just got over-protective.  They know to just watch and warn unless a Warden is actually being attacked, or it’s Darkspawn.”  She looked at the taller man.  “Nathaniel?”

He shook his dark head.  “They’re useful.  They follow directions.  They’re curious, like children, but they’re still Tainted.  I helped, but don’t look to me to change his mind.”

She sighed.  “Look, Alistair - just...go out on a patrol with them.  They’ve found another abandoned Thaig, maybe.  Something big.  I was going anyway, and Nathaniel can watch over things here.”

**

It was dark and rank - Barkspawn wasn’t happy.  Then again, Alistair wasn’t, either.  The Deep Roads were part of being a warden, but they were definitely on the ‘fine print’ side of things.  “How much further?”

One of the Genlocks turned, one who’d found itself a searingly bright shirt.  It looked like some sort of rotting canary monster.  “Another half day.  Is the same as last time.”  He looked forward, made a low sound as he dropped to his hands and knees, sniffing.  “Coming.”  He sounded again, and Alistair heard a chittering.

Alissa narrowed her eyes.  “That doesn’t sound like Darksp…” and the deepstalkers jumped up around them.  She blasted waves of cold from her staff, waves that somehow didn’t affect him or any of the Awakened, though she aimed around Barkspawn.

Alistair pulled his sword, bashed one and spun just in time to see the ogre pick up a third and take a bite.  “Yuck.  Kill now, eat later.”  The ogre dropped it with a look Alistair could only describe as sheepish...and Barkspawn moved over toward it.  “Barkspawn!  Kill now!  Eat later!”  He sliced open the one who’d stood up and started spitting poison.

It didn’t take long for the deepstalkers to fall.  Alistair turned to the Genlock.  “Did you call them?”

“Too much grumping, there is.  Mother...Warden-Mother, says grumping means hunger.  Now, food you can be having.”

Alissa covered her mouth and shook her head when he glared at her, so he transferred it to the Genlock.  “You can call deepstalkers?”  Why would it ever learn something like that?

It nodded, and continued with its high-pitched gravel.  “Have travelled with Wardens before.   _ They  _ be thanking.”

“He’s got you there, Alistair.”  Her voice was choked.

“Why do you have to be right all the time?”  He muttered a few other things as the giggles finally broke through, though she tried to give him a severe look.  His grumpiness melted - how long had it been since he’d heard her giggle?  Arlessa and Warden-Commander had drained the lighthearted girl he’d once known.  “Thank you for calling a pack of scaled killing machines with teeth.  I’m sure they’ll taste lovely - see, Barkspawn’s already wagging his stump!”

The Genlock looked at him.  “Calling.  One who calls?”

“That would be ‘Caller.’”  Alissa patted its shoulder.  “And a good name.  Though, warning us Wardens first would be better next time.  We don’t hear the connecting as clearly.”

_ Thank Andraste and her disciples for that.   _ “So, now all I have to do is find some wood and a pot.”  He’d made stews before, he could again.  And then he could sleep and pray this was all a terrible dream.

The Awakened at least understood that their Wardens needed to rest.  Alissa and he pulled out a blanket and curled up.  He tucked her against his heart where she belonged, and they drifted off, Taint and Khaddis all around.   _ The things you get used to as a Warden. _

When he woke up, he fought briefly with the bright red braid that was strangling him then sat up to check on everything.  Alissa, used to his battles with her hair, slept through it.  Her staff had kept its glowing wisp, enough to bathe everything in faint green light.  Caller - at least, a Genlock in the same bright yellow shirt - bared his teeth at Alistair.  Alistair returned the favor.  Some Human habits shouldn’t be copied.  He sat up, tucked the blanket back around Alissa.  Barkspawn?  He usually slept at their feet...if that ogre had eaten him…

The Mabari was by the ogre, but not eaten.  He was  _ asleep  _ on the giant hulk, curled where the Khaddis had pooled on its neck.  And, apparently, had licked the last of the deepstalker blood from the thing’s face.   _ I may never be able to pet him again. _  His eyes widened.  That’s...exactly what the ogre was doing, eyes half-closed.  Petting.  Barkspawn.  Who had...yes, started drooling down the ogre’s back.

The ogre met his eyes.  “Maybe be tasting good, or being a larger blanket.”

The voice rumbled through his bones, but it was the twitch of its lips that messed with his head.  Alistair sighed.  He could get mad, or he could accept that the ogre was...trying to tell a joke.  Maker.  But if Barkspawn was comfortable with the thing… “It’s just how he is.  If you feed him and smell right, he’ll cuddle and drool all day.”

A quiet voice, the sharpness tempered with humor for a welcome change, came from behind him.  “Like Mabari, like his human?”

“Raised by dogs, I told you years ago.”  She huffed at the memory, and he snuck a quick kiss.  “Though I drool less. Let’s get moving, if Cuddles over there is willing to wake up my dog.”

The ogre gave a grin - and Alistair noticed, for the first time, the similarities it had with the Qunari he’d seen in Kirkwall.  Less purple-black than the ogres he’d killed, yellow-black eyes rather than the straight black he’d stared into too many times.  Even its teeth were...almost just teeth.  Urgh.  Enough looking into Darkspawn mouths.  “Yes.  We have a mission.”


	7. Awakeninng Wardens

“...and you must learn.”  She looked at the four who’d survived the last Joining.  Four out of seven.  Too many deaths on her shoulders had changed her.  Her hard hazel eyes scanned over them, hiding her feelings.  They were new enough they wouldn’t be able to tell, no matter how much she spoke to them of using the corruption in their blood.

The Awakened spilled out at the newest Wardens.  One screamed, while another attempted to focus as the Ogre grabbed the first, roared in his face.  “Phillipe.  You’re dead.”  Her voice stayed detached as she paralyzed him.  “Work!  Pay attention!”  Chaos.  Confusion, panic.  She’d not told them, of course she hadn’t.

The paralyzed shock reinforced itself - she and Nathaniel could both feel it, but practice let them ignore it.  It didn’t take long for the other three to ‘die’ as well.  Alissa and Nathaniel sighed in unison, faces hard.

“So.  You’re all dead.  Stand up.”  She looked at the Awakened.  “Thank you, as always.”  She smiled at the Darkspawn, who nodded together, then walked out of the practice yard - to the astonishment of the new Wardens.

Alissa turned back: Warden-Commander, not Warden-Mother.  “Panic will kill you.  It killed the other three recruits.  It killed all four of you now.”

Nathaniel took his part, his gravelly voice quiet.  “You four survived the Joining because you were able to accept the Taint to do what was necessary.   _ Use  _ that.  The corruption connects all of us.  Listen, and control.  The resonance lets you know when any Tainted creature is near, Darkspawn, Awakened or Warden.  Practice lets you distinguish.”

_ “But if you panic,”  _ Alissa’s voice broke in, “the connection the Taint brings will destroy you and your brothers.  Listen, control, use the Taint, don’t let the corruption destroy you.”  It would eventually, but they didn’t need to hear that right now.  She watched, eyes snapping, as the four went through the usual stages: disgruntlement, betrayal, finally a degree of listening, tinged with fear.  They always did.  The fact the Awakened listened, especially to her - and that was beyond the presence she’d developed, the tiny woman leaning against her tall staff.  “Nathaniel.  Take them into the courtyard.  Work them hard.”

The Wardens turned to her Warden-Constable in relief.  The fact the tall, dark man who never smiled was more comforting than her was a source of amusement for both of them - and Sigrun, who literally couldn’t be involved in the early training because she’d break into giggles.

After a moment, the Warden-commander stepped into the courtyard, and watched the Wardens finish the loop around the outbuildings, then begin weapons-practice under Nathaniel’s eagle eye.  She felt the Awakened approaching - watched the moment Nathaniel did, his shoulders stiffening slightly before he relaxed.  

_ This  _ time Lonnie twitched, looked toward the Vigil’s gate.  Her alert rippled silently through the others...except for Phillipe.  Alissa hid her proud smile.  This time, when Genlocks appeared around the outbuildings, they were ready.  She tossed a quick barrier around Cuddles and Grumpy as the Ogres charged and the first fireball rolled out, just in case Lonnie had forgotten this was practice.  The new Wardens still fell, but this time, they ‘took’ most of the Awakened with them.  Her Awakened were used enough to training recruits and listened -  _ they  _ knew when to ‘die’ without her intervention.

She was just about to join in on Nathaniel’s dry critique when her head snapped around and her eyes lit up.  The Awakened all looked at her, and both Cuddles and Caller gave their smiles as Nathaniel paused to watch his Warden-Commander drop her staff and charge for the road where a figure trudged into view.  The new Wardens watched in stunned disbelief as his arms went out and caught her as she jumped, held her close, as her delight trickled through the connection of their Tainted blood.

Martin cleared his throat after a moment, watching the man tuck her under his arm and start walking again, nodding as she was gesturing madly, and a laugh drifted on the breeze.  “Who?”  It was all he could get out.  He couldn’t believe it.  The Warden-Commander.  Alissa Amell.   _ Laughed.  _

Nathaniel’s grey eyes watched the couple.  “Her husband, the Senior Warden.”  A thud - Sigrun was right, Phillipe.  “Someone, pick him up.”  Cuddles stepped over...serves him right.  Amazing, that he’d survived the Joining if he was this excitable - but then again, there was always one.

They walked through the gate, Alissa tucked tight under Alistair’s arm.  He met her eyes with a twitch of his lips as she looked around.  “Phillipe.  Sigrun was right again.”  

A softness still lurked around her eyes.  “Cuddles, put him down.  You know he’s just going to wet himself otherwise.”

His raspy voice.  “But they make such funny noises, Warden-Mother.”  The Ogre sighed as Alistair chuckled and the other three young Wardens stared.

“He will anyway, probably gobble like a fish, right, Liss?”

“Already was, Alistair.  Come on.  I think we’ve terrorized these new Wardens enough for today - and you need to get washed up.”  She took her staff back from Caller, and pulled Alistair into the Keep.  “Eventually.”


	8. The Priest's Song, the Priest Awakened

_ He rose, confused.  “Why do you not bow? ….I smell the blood in you.  ….Dumat, you offered the power of the gods themselves…” _

Her eyes snapped open.  Dark.  She heard troubled breathing next to her, but it didn’t sound like Alistair would wake as she did.  She felt the Taint burning in her veins, like she hadn’t since they’d killed – or saved – the Archdemon Urthemial at the end of the Blight…or if she was being honest with herself, since the Architect had vanished back into the depths with a promise of continued alliance against the unAwakened Darkspawn.

She slipped out from under the heavy blankets and walked to the windows, the stone shockingly, reassuringly cold against her bare feet.  Still in that in-between stage, she focused in and out, from her blood through the Taint in it as Avernus had taught her, seeking…what?  A direction, a warning…an understanding.  She rested forearms against the ledge, the contrast between fire and ice sharpening her attention, eyes unfocused gazing past Vigil’s Keep.  She didn’t worry about how it darkened the skin over her veins...who would see?

_ It…HE…rose, taller than a man, body warped, eyes unfocused as hers. _

“More,” she whispered to herself.  “Deeper, sink further.”

_ Rage, aching abandonment, a loss of faith, corruption through his veins, powerful corruption reaching out through his dreams, through those around him…but not all of those in front of him.  Dreams that had been…real?  How long had he slept?  A flash of a City, dark, echoing with silence and empty when it should have had power and light.  Nothingness when he called out to the silence he worshipped.  Nothingness around him.  Not the blessed, heavy silence, but an emptiness, a void that rang loud as he fell.  And so he reached through dreams, through blood, to those who also sought what they could never have, what had been stolen from them.  Crippling pain, but the corruption, the blood, a pathway beyond the pain, clouded eyes, watch them go.  And then, those clouded eyes started to focus…on  _ her.’

She pulled back in shock, stumbling away from the window and tripping over her nightclothes, falling with a smothered cry.

“Wha?  Breakfast sounds…wait.  Is it…love?”  A tousled head drug itself out of the pillows.  “Alissa?  You’re on the floor.”  The shape wiggled to the edge of the bed, and he looked at her.  “Isn’t that cold?”

Her body shivered, reminding her that it was the depths of winter.  “No, of course not.”  The old game, the half-awake banter, came automatically.

“Ah, then it’s just me thinking we had a blizzard the last four days.”  Bleary, but cheerful.  If she was there, and talking, then his life was complete.  She couldn’t suppress the soft chuckle.  “Come back to bed.  It’s  _ much  _ too cold and dark to be awake.”

She shook her head, still not looking at him, but seeing his twinkle and grin in her mind’s eye.  “No, I think I’m all done trying to sleep.”

“All the more reason to come back to bed?”  His voice turned suddenly hopeful.

Too much was roiling through her head.  As much as she enjoyed the comfort of his arms…among other things…the dream, the visions wouldn’t leave.  “What did you dream?”

He sighed at her abrupt change of subject.  “I don’t know.  At least come back and sit on the bed?  You can’t be getting sick with everything going on.”  He relaxed when she did – she would pull away, vanish into her duties or visions sometimes, and he couldn’t follow when she did.  The calculating Commander and politician his beautiful love was known as still baffled him.  He knew the kind-hearted girl, eyes wide as they wandered the Wilds, was still there.  The one who laughed and smiled in the muck, because she’d never seen flowers blooming before.  Who knelt next to them, getting her robe caked, to touch them with a gentle, wondering finger.

Her hazel eyes were intense as they focused on his face.  She sat upright, cross-legged – her favorite ‘thinking’ pose.  “What do you remember?”

Alistair thought back.  “I’m not sure.  Something – but it wasn’t an Archdemon, thank the Maker.  An Emissary, perhaps?  It looked…intelligent, somehow.”  And the Darkspawn who were still able to touch the Fade, or the Taint, whatever to use magic were among the worst threats in the Deep Roads.

It was her voice, quiet, that broke the silence.  “I thought I saw Anders, at the end.”  Sorrow at that – one of the first new Wardens under her command, and  _ gone  _ after she’d saved both the town and Vigil’s Keep, she believed him lost in the defense of the Keep while she went to protect the people of the city.

He tensed.  Anders was something he didn’t want to discuss.  What he’d seen in Kirkwall…he didn’t say anything when he’d come back after the first trip, and especially not after the second.  He may never have become a Templar, but there was still something about the man that felt – wrong.  “I don’t remember that, but I…maybe saw your cousin?  Or heard her – she’s…memorable.”

Alissa’s lips twitched.  Dear Alistair, so gallant…and yet still someone who couldn’t help but notice a shapely woman.  But that reminded her of some of her own secrets.

“If my cousin was involved in a Taint-driven dream, we need to know, Alistair.”  It would also get him back out of Ferelden, safe from the machinations of Queen Anora.  Although he’d willingly faded into obscurity, she had no heir and the rumors of a son of the Theirin bloodline had only gotten stronger as the chaos after King Cailan’s death continued despite her efforts.  There had been two…no, three assassination attempts since the end of the Blight, even with him gone as much as possible.  “I hate to ask, but please – go back to Kirkwall and see if she has anything that can help.”

“But I just got back from Antiva a couple weeks ago!  We have so little time together, love.”

Alissa glared at him.  “I know.  And as long as your brother’s widow holds the throne, that’s not likely to change.  We’ve gone over this.  There is no heir and the unrest hasn’t settled.”   _ You should have taken the throne when we had the chance.  _  She didn’t say the words, not this time, but they still hovered over the cold dark room.  He hadn’t wanted it, and Anora had seemed competent enough…and Alissa herself had been too new to politics, too in love, to insist.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,  _ we _ don’t have an heir either.”  He blanched as soon as the words came out, his temper vanishing as he reached out a hand.  “That’s not…I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

She had already left the bed, moved to the wardrobe with the unsettling speed she occasionally showed, and started pulling on wool trousers with a heavy divided robe.  Anything to keep him from seeing her eyes and the knowledge she had of his heir.  His child…and her friend’s, the apostate mage he never spoke of, the night they had not brought up since that desperate conversation on the eve of the final battle of the Blight.  The fact that the Taint prevented them from having children of her own wasn’t something she regretted personally, and Anora’s paranoia would explode into open war if she found out Alissa was bearing, but…politics and machinations, everything she’d been forced to learn since she’d been thrown out of the Kinloch Circle.  Ferelden needed an heir, needed certainty, and didn’t have it.

“I’ll ask one of the recruits to bring breakfast.  As soon as the roads are clear, check on Hawke and see what you can find out.  Nathaniel handled the Deep Roads issues, so it should be quick.  Go on a recruiting swing…the last Joining killed almost half of the potentials.”  Avernus had done much, but there was only so much he could do about the lethality of the ritual.  Thanks to the Awakened, it was easy enough to discreetly get the Darkspawn blood, at least.  What  _ would  _ Awakened blood do instead?  No.  Not now, anyway.

She hid her sigh as she walked out.  She was so tired: of being Commander, of the Order’s consistent and shrill demands that she or Alistair report and tell them what happened to the Archdemon and what happened in Amaranthine after.  What had she found at Soldier’s Peak?  They were certain it was more than ‘Sophia Dryden’s body,’ but refused to say why.  And that may have been why she hid Avernus’ existence from everyone but Alistair and Nathaniel, and even with them, didn’t tell what the ancient Warden had taught her about the Taint.  That, she’d only shared with Morrigan.  As her blood got darker, she was more desperate to find a solution.

Secrets and lies, secrets and lies…secrets weighing down the air between Ferelden and the head of the Order in Weisshaupt’s keep, weighing the air between her and Alistair, between her and Morrigan.  She ached to see Alistair’s son, to see the friend who of any understood the burden of secrets.  Weisshaupt wouldn’t answer her questions any more than she would answer theirs.  Lady Woolsey had been encouraged to leave years ago, before Alissa returned from seeking, and secretly finding, Morrigan.  She would protect her friend, and Alistair’s son, from the Order.  And one day perhaps, Morrigan would help find another hole for them to slip through.  Ancestors knew Avernus hadn’t.

“Go to Kirkwall, Alistair.  I’ll have a message written.  We need the truth about what happened.”  This secret, she couldn’t afford not to know.  It had  _ seen  _ her.  “I’ll make it up to you when you come back.”  Maybe then they could find a way to overcome the years, to rekindle not just the love, but the trust they’d had when they were young and up against a darkness that could crush the world.


	9. Dreams of Taint

The voice, powerful, smooth, cracked, slipped into her dreams again.   _ ‘You have been difficult to find, among all the other singers.’ _

Alissa was no Dreamer, but this was also no ordinary dream.  She felt it through her blood, just as she had dreams of the Archdemon six years ago.  Seven, now?  She tried to focus,  _ in and out,  _ and gradually the mist around her shaped and cleared.  Hazel eyes looked into...hazel eyes.  She ignored, for the moment, the twisted form coming into shape around them.   _ ‘I did not expect to be sought.’ _

There was the sensation of restless movement.   _ ‘What has happened to this world?  I hear only whispers of corruption, of madness and death.  Yet not everything has corrupted?’ _

_ ‘No, not everything.  Not most.  The corruption, the Taint - the world believes it was the Maker’s punishment against the Seven who entered the Golden City...sin made physical.  It almost destroyed the world, when the Archdemon Dumat rose and led the Tainted hordes.  Some learned how to control the Taint, use it to stop the tide of darkness.’   _ She kept things vague, but tried to answer the question.  She was tired of lies, but what truth to share with this thing of her dreams, the thing she’d sent Alistair to investigate?

Sharp, pointed fingers curled, around and..around his wrists, to the back of his hand as he clenched fists.  His eyes spat hate.   _ ‘You lie.  The Taint was not us.  The corruption was THERE.  It filled the City that was supposed to be golden, filled the uncaring cavern we were cast into.’ _

_ ‘I do not lie.’   _ She wasn’t sure she could, not here, not to the creature who was made of Tained flesh, whose voice echoed in her bones, through the song she could hear if she concentrated on the corruption inside her.   _ ‘I speak of what is told.  You were there?’ _

Anger, pride, betrayal.  ‘ _ I was the Conductor!  I was promised - we were all promised - powers to wake the Old Gods from their slumber.  They whispered as they went silent.  Not the silence of Dumat, powerful, heavy,  _ present  _ in my bones, but an echoing emptiness.’ _

_ ‘The same emptiness you say you found.’ _

_ ‘Yes, little singer.’ _

She shivered.   _ ‘Why do you call me that?  I do not Call through the Taint.  I am no god, no Tainted Archdemon.’ _

The betrayal and the emptiness of loss slid into an expression of...amusement?  The tense lines around his eyes relaxed slightly, and the lids opened.   _ ‘You do not know, or you lie.  And I think you have not lied.’ _

She woke with a start.  Peeling out of her sweat-soaked sheets, she paced the still-cold floor of her room.  The snow had melted.  You could smell the change of the season, even if all that met her eyes were winter-dead branches, skeletal and reaching up for life.  “Alistair, what have I sent you up against?”  And what did the creature mean, when it called her a singer?  She grabbed pen and paper to write to Morrigan.  Perhaps her sister-in-spirit could help decipher this.  She couldn’t share with anyone else, not with Alistair gone.

**

Each dream, the mists cleared more quickly.  She focused her will, using them to create a wall of fog behind her.   _ I am no Dreamer, but I remember seeing the Archdemon’s Horde through the Taint.  I will not risk my brothers and sisters.  _  The creature who spoke with her did not seem to object.  All she could do was hope her efforts worked.

_ ‘You do not fear me.’   _ He seemed surprised.

She shrugged slightly, her eyes meeting his.   _ ‘You have done nothing for me to fear.  Words, exchanged in dreams.  SHOULD I fear?’ _

_ ‘The others do.  They fear the unknown, the undying, the truth I can bring.  They fear the song whispering along their bones.’ _

_ ‘I am not them.’ _

_ ‘What are you then, little singer?’ _

She pondered.   _ ‘I am a person, a mage...or was.  I believe I still am, despite the corruption.’   _ A pause as she listened to her heart beat.  Once.  Twice.   _ ‘What are you?’ _

He blinked slowly as he debated with himself the answer.   _ ‘A man, a mage...although I left personhood behind long ago to follow my god.’ _

_ ‘What do you mean?’ _

He touched the crystals of his face with a single nail.   _ ‘Devotion, and lyrium, and ritual.  The High Priests of the gods make sacrifices.  We become more than human, to hear their words, to have the power to fill their temples.  That is why we are worshipped, revered, feared.  Few can walk away from their humanity, even when called by a god.’ _

She tipped her head, considering his words.   _ ‘You are right on that much.  Even for everything they hold dear, few are willing to sacrifice themselves to corruption, mutilation or even transformation.’ _

_ ‘And yet you and your ilk did.’ _

She shrugged.   _ ‘Many cannot.’ _

_ ‘You and your ilk did.’ _  His voice pressed her.

_ ‘We did.’ _

**

_ ‘Why do you say the gods sent you to the Maker’s seat?’ _

_ ‘Because they did, little singer.’ _

_ ‘How did you know?’  _  This time, it was she who pressed.

_ ‘Your question is pointless.  We HEARD.  To be a High Priest is to give up your name, become their vessel, their entry into the waking world.  We knew.  All seven of us.  They followed me.  The Augur found the place.  The Madman, the method.  The Forgewright, the sigil that must be built out of people and land, into the air and the bedrock itself.  The Watchman, how to ward and focus our efforts.  The Appraiser, enough blood to power the ritual the Architect devised.  The Seven did not work together, only for the highest of feasts and in the most limited of ways.  We heard.  We knew.’   _ His eyes were slitted in fury, but most did not seem directed at her.   _ ‘And there was nothing, and the gods went silent.’ _

_ ‘Did they lie?’ _

_ ‘NO!  Dumat would not lie to his priest!  What benefit?  They told us how to free them from their waking dreams, how to gain power to unlock their prisons and join them in godhood.’ _

_ ‘Then why?’ _

He stopped, and the cage of his shoulders shifted.   _ ‘I do not know.  I only know it was empty.  And the gods went silent, and the Empire fell.  Now no god will answer prayers, no god will act to separate the righteous from those who should be destroyed.’ _

_ ‘And Taint, somehow released from that journey, almost destroyed everything.’   _ His eyes focused on her again, and she realized she’d spoken it.  Thought, speech...how different were they, in these dreams with the common corruption singing between them?

_ ‘People need something greater to follow.’ _

_ ‘People have managed for a thousand years, following a dream that does not answer.  I have seen darkness.  I have seen faith and miraculous things.  All without intervention from a god.’ _

_ ‘It is not enough.  And you have no grounds to speak, little singer.’ _

_ ‘Why not?’ _

His hazel eyes were sharp in his warped face.  Crystals flared red over an emaciated, distorted frame.   _ ‘Foolish girl, did you think I could not see?  I am the Conductor.  The High Priest of a god your kind killed.  Do you think I can’t smell god-blood in you, along with the Taint?  Blood, and the gods, and ritual magic.  The two threads, bound together.  Who but a High Priest could manage that, even if the gods have gone silent?’ _

She shivered.   _ ‘I am no priest.  I claim no such mantle.’ _

_ ‘And yet you use the ritual.  And yet you have changed it, made it your own somehow.  You discovered the power, and used it to create and enslave.’ _

_ ‘NO!  I would never enslave.  That is not what power is for.  Protect, guide, build - but not enslave.’ _

His laughter burst through.   _ ‘Foolish singer.  What is the difference, if you are the creator of their world?’ _

This time, Alissa curled into a ball.  She couldn’t shake his words, his amusement, his certainty.   _ No.  I am no god.  I claim no mantle of godhood. _  She repeated it, again and again.   _ He looked down at her.  ‘Mother.’ _

“No!”  Whimpers, shivers.   _ ‘...ritual designed by the Architect.’   _ The  _ Architect.   _ “Oh, Maker, what have I done?”  Her voice shrank to a whisper.  “What have I become?”  No more.  Research, study...but no more.  No Joinings - not that they had recruits.  No Awakenings.  Not until the echo of his amusement was out of her mind, until she could say to hazel eyes that it truly was different, and not just because she could.  Maker help her, she wasn’t even sure which hazel eyes she needed to convince.  A mangled, Tainted face, a beloved one topped with a shock of auburn hair.  Or her own.

__ __

**

_ ‘How do you manage, without the words from your gods?’ _

She considered his deep voice, ragged silk in her mind.  Idly wondered how hers sounded to him.   _ ‘We listen to each other then do the best we can.  Some of us.  Many follow the Chantry, a source of faith and strength across Thedas.  I have seen the Temple.  Faith has power, even if there are no words from the gods.’ _

_ ‘It is not enough!’   _ His frustration thundered as he paced the pocket of their shared dream.

She stayed sitting, still and silent, watching him.

_ ‘It is not enough, it cannot be enough.  People need guidance.  They need to be led.’ _

_ ‘Perhaps, perhaps not.  But it is all we have.’ _

**

_ ‘Why do you call me little singer?’ _

_ ‘You still do not know?’ _

_ ‘I guess.  I am curious what you see.  You named me, I did not.’ _

A hint of a smile across torn and Tainted lips.  She did not shudder - she had seen it often enough.   _ ‘I did.’ _

_ ‘Why?’ _

_ ‘Those you hide from me, little singer.  It is your song that blocks my own.  It works, from this distance.  Why do you hide them?’ _

She narrowed her eyes, trying to not shiver...but knowing he still saw it, just as she saw his loneliness.   _ ‘I am sworn to protect.’ _

_ ‘You do not fear me.  Why hide them?’ _

She met his eyes again.   _ ‘Just because I do not fear you does not mean you aren’t dangerous.  I will risk myself.  I will not risk them.’ _

A husky chuckle, surprise in his eyes.   _ ‘No mortal, no one so close to human, has spoken to me like this since I took the mantle of priesthood and left humanity and family behind.’ _

_ ‘Then I am different.  Perhaps foolish.’ _

_ ‘Why, when I could crush your mind so easily?’ _

For a strange reason, this mattered to him.   _ ‘I don’t know that you could, or would.  Curiosity.  You say you left humanity behind, yet you feel loss, betrayal, anger...and surprise.  Perhaps humanity is not as narrow as your Empire held.’   _ That hit a nerve, but she continued.   _ ‘Plus, in the waking world, I am small and fragile.  I talk to many things that could crush my form.  Some few, possibly, my mind.  Besides, you have not tried.  Why not?’ _

A pause stretched so long she thought he would not answer, that the dream would end.   _ ‘Because you do not fear me, perhaps.  Because you treat me as the man I once had been.’   _ His voice hardened.   _ ‘The man I cannot afford to be.  This world must be changed, and I will do so, now that I have found the means.  For the kindness and curiosity you have shown, I give you this warning.  Go, or join me.  Otherwise, I will have no choice but to crush you as well.’   _ A pause.   _ ‘For some reason, I do not wish to.’ _

_ ‘I will not submit.’ _

_ ‘I know, little singer.’ _

**

She threw herself out of bed and to the desk to scribble a hasty, panicked note.

_ ‘Morrigan _

_ He said...he plans to change the world.  I don’t know what that means, but fear it.  Fear for all of us.  For the first time, he threatened me - said he would destroy everything if I did not submit.  He claims he has found a means to reshape the world, or reshape the Taint, I can’t tell.  Sod it, I can’t even tell how much of what he’s said is truth.  It...feels true, as it has all along. _

_ You asked in the last letter...yes, I believe him.  I have to.  If he is one of the Seven, he is more dangerous and knowledgeable than we can face alone...or even together, with the resources I have.  And he can use the Taint.  He was surprised he couldn’t reach out to ‘my’...something?  My Wardens, my Awakened, I don’t know.  But he said it was distance alone that kept my song strong enough. _

_ Sister, what can I do now?’ _

Step one; call a raven, as Morrigan had taught her.  Good, she was strong and rested.  Give her the note, sealed and rolled...feed her, and press into her mind who she sought and where.  Thank the moon and stars, Morrigan had been in the Empress’ court through all of this.  Letters travelled quickly.  Alissa shivered again, despite the press of late summer heat.  “Hurry, clever lady.”


	10. The Dragon-Warden

When he got back from Kirkwall, Alissa was gone.  He knew even before Nathaniel came to their bedroom door, before he walked in.  She filled a space, and it was empty, cold.

“She left a note, she said.”

“But - she didn’t tell you?  What happened?”  His head was spinning.  Sabah Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall - the look on her face was something he never wanted to see again.  She’d told what she could of this Corypheus, and Alistair agreed it was a threat.  A Darkspawn...a Magister?  He shivered.  “I need to warn her, Nathaniel.”

“She recieved a letter and left.”  He stood still as Alistair pulled at his hair, then paced over to the desk.  Nathaniel stayed quiet as he looked it over.

_ ‘Alistair, _

_ I don’t have another choice.  The Taint deepens, quickens.  I promised - no new Awakened.  You were right; until we better understand, I can’t keep experimenting.  Between what I’ve learned from the Architect, and Avernus and...other sources, I may have a lead.  I’ve gone somewhere you can’t follow, again.  I swear I’ll come back to you, on the vows we’ve both made.  My love.  _

_ Keep them safe, keep yourself safe.  You are now Senior Warden, something even Anora may hesitate to take on directly.  ‘In Peace, Vigilance.  In War, Victory.  Maker help us, I don’t know which it is.’ _

“Senior Warden.”  He showed Nathaniel the note.  “What does that mean?”  He hadn’t kept up with the titles, had been out so often and so long.  Had avoided it, if he was honest - and he needed to be.  She needed it now.

“The Vigil, and our loyalty, are yours.”

**

Shadows danced across twisted forms limned in red and gold, silently watching her.  Rasping breaths and sullen crackles added to the weight of their resistance.  “No,” a smooth, sharp voice whispered.  The ogre stiffened, but sighed when talons touched his leathery thigh.  “I must go.  Alone.”

Rumbles that her attempt at serene reassurance couldn’t settle, but they didn’t speak against her.  They didn’t speech to for her to hear their protests – or they to know her determination.

Would the Tainted dreams follow her?  For the first time in a decade, saying farewell to her strangest children, Alissa prayed they would.

**

_ Two weeks passed before those who remained split.  Most returned, making their untiring way through the darkness to where the Warden-Mother had made her home.  The Dragon-Warden, the Silent one, the Painted Wardens…and the others.  Singing One, Flat-Foot, Rage…and those who had not made themselves known enough, were not Connected enough to be more than reflected murmurs. _

_ Grumpy settled near the long-dead fire, as did Painter, Flick and now, Waiting.  The Connecting stretched, thinner, until it faded.  As She faded.  Other Songs pressed, but could not break through the web that remained. _

_ Hunger, bitter and demanding, thrummed stronger away from their Mother, their Wardens.  They hunted as the Warden-Mother had taught, hunted in the depths, through caverns and new tunnels carved with talons and teeth.  More broken singers were silenced, and choking smoke filled spaces where none drew breath, rank and familiar. _

_ They waited, khaddis-scent worn with time, scraped from flaking skin and harsh rock, until only the Connection and faint thread of Her Song remained. _

**

He finished the letter, but had nowhere to send it.  She’d left no direction and the most those she’d Awakened could say was ‘West.’  West was Orlais and the Anderfels.  He couldn’t risk a letter, couldn’t risk  _ her  _ by sending it.  So he wrote it, and folded it, and pulled out a drawer of the desk to tuck it into.  Alistair stared at the stack of letters, all opened, filling the space.  He’d never guessed...

_ ‘Sister _

_ Across the sea I have heard of no Blights.  Dragons fly free, though I do not know that it is connected.  If the Taint has spread so far, you must hurry.  There will be someone waiting for you, and a ship.  That much, I can arrange from here - I have resources, but little trust.  I will continue looking.’ _

Alistair stared at the spidery handwriting.  She had been working with someone to control the Taint?  Someone other than Avernus.   _ Sister.   _ Liss had never mentioned…she found a sister?  The pang of distrust struck again.  He dug further, found the first - recognized Alissa’s handwriting on one side.

_ ‘Morrigan _

_ An Arling, a Keep, they want me to rule?  I’m a mage, I know nothing that would help!  Cantrips, certainly, but...they look to me.  The Senechal seems reliable if stodgy.  He’s warned of famine if I can’t convince the farmers to return to the land.  And Weisshaupt has sent a minder.  At least she seems competent. _

_ ‘Convince the farmers.’  Even here, the far side of Ferelden, you can see scars from the war and Blight.  I’ve been told this isn’t the true source of food - that was Redcliffe.  So now Amaranthine is, because Redcliffe was devastated.  And yet, people are missing because they were conscripted, or fled the bandits, or left Ferelden for fear of the Blight.  They stare at me with empty eyes - and they hope.  They all stare at me, somehow I’m supposed to solve all the problems! _

_ Oh, and it’s lonely.  I know, I know.  But I miss him, even more than I miss you.  As much as?  It’s different.  Writing, it’s like I’m talking to you - but a letter can’t make up a kiss, feeling safe in his arms.  Protected.  Sheltered.  I know, I know.  I’m soft, but I had to be hard for so long, and I have to be hard as Commander and Arlessa.  I asked him to go to Orlais; we need to learn what Wardens are supposed to know.  I saw how Anora looked at him after the Archdemon.  A dead hero - or two - would have been better than a living threat.  And that Eamon, still pondering, considering.  Maybe not having a family is easier at times.  _

_ He...he won’t speak of you, of it.  It hurts, hiding things.  You were both right, I should have told him everything - but would he have agreed?  I don’t know, and can’t ask him now.  I have to live with what I did.  But I see him smile, or make another of his terrible jokes, and...it was worth it, always.  Because he is here.  Thank you, sister-in-spirit. _

_ Alissa’ _

Alistair could hear her voice in the turns of phrase.  The hollow feeling in his chest - her absence, his fears…  He turned the page over, saw the same spidery hand as on the letter that sent her away.

_ ‘Sister _

_ I get these slowly where I found shelter - two came at once.  This gave more space to write.  Tell me more of these talking Darkspawn, and I shall research.  Nothing in the lore I have already learned speaks of them. _

_ Regarding leading ‘the people,’ you did for a year.  You were not trained for it, but you, as Eamon said, ‘forged an army’ against striking odds.  The things I could not understand will serve you well: caring about the mindless sheep who can’t find their own cows.  Helping them.  Protecting.  You lived through protection that became a cage - don’t make that mistake. _

_ For the rest - for your sake, I am glad I was wrong.  He may be an idiot, but not fool enough to walk away from you for long. _

Alistair flipped through the stack, pulled out another.

_ He grows well - tall and strong.  Curious as a bird, and as likely to follow directions!  I cannot decide if I am relieved he shows no sign of magic or what he carries.  For you, and for his sake, he will be happy. _

He carefully put the letters back in order before he tucked them back in the drawer.  He didn’t want to read the rest.  Wasn’t sure he could - it was too much to process.  And private.  Liss had grown with so little privacy, she treasured it.  But what he’d seen - she’d had the same fears but pushed through because she had to.  He would, too.  As for the last...a shake of the head, and an ache he refused to consider.  He had duties, and owed Alissa that.  The rest could wait.  Although even he knew he was just avoiding thinking about it.  He stood, moving like half-asleep, or an old man.  The mantle had space: he put his letter for Rose there.

Barkspawn whined: he’d been here long enough and was hungry.  Alistair wiped his face, and finally spoke in a rusty voice.  “Let’s find supper, huh?”


	11. A Calling and a Saving

Alistair woke up.  The bed was empty, no matter what he dreamed - but he hadn’t dreamed of Alissa, not tonight.  A song, like from the Blight.  Whispering, droning in his mind.  Calling, reaching...no, it was too soon.  MUCH too soon.  He shook his head, and it faded.

Downstairs, Nathaniel, Sigrun and Hans were waiting for him.  He dug into his bacon, eggs and gravy.  Hans spoke first.  “The Bann of Amaranthine was ecstatic at having a training center, especially one he wouldn’t need to staff.  It’s been years, but he remembers the Darkspawn attack and the Wardens coming to save the city.  He’s got land we can use near the east side just outside the gates.”

Alistair nodded.  “I remember that.  Wasn’t there...a fire or something?  It’s flat and mostly clear.  Outside the city is better - training gets loud.”

Hans snorted.  “Especially since I became Armsmaster, you mean.”  The man was tall and blocky, with a voice to match.

“Good news.  Thanks for using your tie to the merchants.”

“Innkeepers, Senior Warden.”

“Right.  Sorry, bad dreams.”  The other three all twitched.  “Wait.  Did you all dream?”

Sigrun shrugged her shoulders.  “Maybe?  We don’t, you know?  But I woke up hearing something.  It was strange.”  The men nodded as he glanced their way.

“Is it another Archdemon?”

“No.”  Alistair was glad he could answer Nathaniel clearly on that.  “Archdemons sound different.  More...I don’t know.  Intelligent.  Creepy.”  He turned his hand over, drew a line on his palm with his dagger.  The others mirrored his action.

He stared at their blood.  Despite being the oldest Warden, his was still almost bright red.  But even the other three - just a shadow of corruption.  “It’s not the Calling.  It’s much too soon for that, anyway.”  But it fit what Duncan had told him, of how the dreams started.   _ Damnit, Alistair, think!   _ He shook his head.  Dreams.  Dreams and visions, and whispers.  Didn’t he get something about that from Sabah?  “I need to check something.  Hans, get the drills started.”  Nathaniel watched him.  “Sigrun, can you deal with the political…” he waved his hands, “stuff, until I get back?  Nathaniel, check on the sentries and see if they heard anything.”  The sentries: the Awakened.  They would have heard, if it was an Archdemon, wouldn’t they?  No one really understood them even now, not the way Liss did.

He rushed back up the stairs and tossed things around the desk.  No wonder Alissa had gotten so hard with all of this to deal with.  He found the letter from Sabah.

_ ‘Warden _

_ Here is everything else I can remember from Corypheus.  The Wardens...Larius was long past his Calling, Anders said.  But he was there.  And he said Corypheus, dreaming, had worked into their minds.  The dwarves looked Tainted - and spoke of following.  They tried to keep it out of their head, but...the closer we got, the harder it was.  He snapped.  I don’t think even Corypheus knew everything he could do, but he could use the Taint.  Somehow.  Larius headed to Weisshaupt, to warn the Wardens that the prison was destroyed.  To tell them what had happened, how the Wardens there fell under his control.  You haven’t told me about the Darkspawn you fear, so I don’t know how this helps. _

_ Sabah Hawke.’ _

The handwriting was shaky, especially when she mentioned the dead Warden.  The one he’d forgotten to tell Alissa about - Anders.  The friend she described was long gone in the Abomination he’d become.  Alistair pondered.  The Architect was a Darkspawn who could talk. And do magic.  And everyone, even Alissa, seemed to believe what it had said.  But...only a bit, and less over the years.  As it was...further away.  Was it still?  Could it do the same thing?  Andraste’s toenails, could he have something similar here?

He grabbed for paper.

_ ‘Sabah - Hawke. _

_ There is something strange here.  Oh, years ago, the Wardens were attacked - an attack led by a talking Darkspawn.  Can you see what you can find about anything called an ‘Architect?’  And anything else you can remember about how the Wardens described what they heard would be great. _

_ Alistair, Senior Warden’ _

His hand shook, but he got enough wax on the back to press in a seal.

**

All of the Wardens could hear it now - everyone who went through the Joining.  The Awakened just shook their heads.  The old ones said they could hear something.  The two dozen or so that Alissa had Awakened heard nothing, except through ‘the connecting.’  Whatever this was, it was after the Wardens.  Did the Awakened feel anything like the Calling?  The music in their dreams, any time they paused to think?  He focused again.

_ ‘Alistair, _

_ I found Eamon’s papers and correspondence.  He was behind the rumors of you that never died.  The fool.  I had no idea, his loyalty to the throne seemed honest enough.  The correspondence stopped after Isolde’s death, Maker light her path.  I’ll do my best to quell anything that’s still out there. _

_ Teagan’ _

Alistair swore.  Eamon, the man he’d thought of as a father, until he’d pushed to force the crown.  Even Alissa had almost been swayed.  The man who’d become a recluse after Isolde died, that he’d stopped meeting with because there were always other Arls and Banns ‘coincidentally’ around.  “Nathaniel, look at this!”

The man’s eyes got tight.  “Eight years of undermining the Queen, of putting you and Alissa in danger.  All because of an obsession over blood.”

“Isolde died two years ago, but six years is only a little less bad than eight.  Great.  Just wonderful.  This is not going to be easy.  I can’t just go to Denerim, Anora will have me jailed or killed for sure.  Mo...I mean, could you blame her?  She’ll think I’ve come to claim the crown I’d run away from, and still would!”

“You’ve been running things here for a few months.  Send her a note, something polite and submissive.”

Alistair blinked.  “I...could do something like that.  I think.”  It would be easy, right?  She had power, but was crazy.  Just...write to a crazy ruler.  His tongue stuck out as he started scribbling.

_ ‘Your Glorious Majesty. _

_ Greetings and long last your reign.  Ferelden has prospered under your wisdom. _

_ Your Arlessa had Warden business that called her away, and she asked me to watch over her Arling until she returned.  This is the longest I’ve been in Ferelden since the Blight - a hero has his uses, but not in peace and prosperity.  And that, the country has.  Amaranthine has become a trading hub with the Marcher states - perhaps I can serve you as trade advisor while also meeting my duties as Warden?  Something boring but important to support your rule. _

_ Arl Teagan told me about the rumors of a challenger to your throne.  I don’t know of anyone who would challenge you for it, and will tell that to anyone who asks.  He promised to do the same. _

_ Your Servant, _

_ Warden Alistair _

Alistair sighed, and tossed it to Nathaniel.  “There.  Submissive, flattering and direct enough?”

Nathaniel looked at him.  “From you, the bastard heir to the throne?  Nothing is going to be submissive enough.  But this comes close.  Skip the ‘glorious’ part.”

“Good enough, then.”


End file.
